


Don't Leave Me

by AGrumpyMercenary



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 02:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11727579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGrumpyMercenary/pseuds/AGrumpyMercenary
Summary: Soren's been left behind during battles, and has been agonizing over 'why'. Ike's been thrown into leadership, and has been struggling with the pressure. They have an argument over their worries and hug it out (Because they're Gay Harold).





	Don't Leave Me

**Author's Note:**

> My Datemate did a recent run of Path of Radiance using only Ike for funsies. My natural inclination was to wonder how Soren would feel being left behind (and write it to make them suffer).
> 
> I've never posted stuff online before, and frankly, I'm scared of it. So uh... note that I guess. 
> 
> There's some pacing and syntax issues imo, but it's not the worst thing in the world. 
> 
> Have fun?

The sun was dipping towards the horizon, painting the sky in broad strokes of purples and reds. They blended together, bruises and blood on a canvas of fire, and in their wake the shadows grew deeper, longer. Soren watched the display, the composition of beauty, the promise of nighttime, of darkness, and felt as if it was made for him. 

Marching out with the rising sun, the main force had left, half a day’s march from the battlefield to the South. They would overwhelm the enemy before their location was known, using the forest as cover against aerial units. Soren had pored over the maps, plotted out the locations, had chosen the setting to mitigate damage; it was an ideal battle to utilize archers and mages, he had planned out every detail. 

The sunset dripped like blood. The camp was eerily quiet. Everyone who had been left behind were either wounded and resting, or reinforcements quietly waiting, watching, wondering. There was something cruel about the silence, about the peaceful sunset that blazed like magic, about trying to imagine what the din of the battle must have been like. It felt like punishment, for those inexperienced, for those who hadn’t woken on time, for those lacking the necessary skills. 

Soren wondered if these things applied to him. He wondered if he had fumbled, if he had failed. He wondered how Ike fared in the battles that he’d been left behind on. If all went well, the main force would be returning soon, victorious, triumphant, safe, but the distance remained empty, even as the sunset dipped lower and dotted the sky with stars. 

“If you keep frowning like that, your face will get stuck that way y’know?” Mia ambled into his view, blocking it. “I mean, I guess it’d probably be good on the battlefield, because it’s a pretty scaaary face, but I don’t know if the boss’ll like it when he gets back.” When she spoke, she did so with her hands as much as her voice. Soren took a step back, half afraid of being caught in the crossfire, but she leaned in; her smile was playful, even as she stood between him and the horizon. 

“We could spar, if you’re that worried about him,” she tilted her head, “or maybe you should send out a group to go and check things out!” 

“It’s too early for that, “ Soren’s voice was curt. “We would fatigue our men, risk their lives. To do so before we knew for certain that something was wrong would be a waste of resources.”

“Oh,” Mia tapped a hand to her chin, “But, if you don’t know that something’s wrong, what’s the point in worrying about it? You’re just gonna get yourself all worked up over nothing!”

“Because-” a distant shout cut him off.

“-The main force is returning!” Janaff hovered above a tent nearby, squinting at the fading light, and Soren ducked around Mia, ignoring her ‘hey!’, in favor of dashing to the edge of camp.

It was a couple minutes before forms appeared on the horizon, dancing in the distance, and couple minutes more before those forms took on recognizable shapes, transforming into beorc, horses, beasts. Mist was there, as was Rolf, and Shinon; Soren went over the names of those who had left as they approached, checking them off mentally as they crossed into camp. They ambled in slowly, tiredly, but the last man in looked the most exhausted of all.

“Ike!” He was slumped, haggard even; his sword was near dragging on the ground. Even in the dim light it was clear he was covered in blood, as thick and red as the sunset had been. Soren darted to his side, but he shook his head.

“I’m fine, Soren.” he smiled, bright and radiant and filled with light. “Shinon shot a wyvern and its rider managed to land right on me. I’m almost tempted to say he did it on purpose, if that were even possible,” his chuckle was more of a grunt than anything. “I’m pretty bruised and battered, but I’ll live... I think.” 

Soren hummed. Up close it was clear the blood caked on Ike’s skin and clothes wasn’t his own. The cuts looked minimal, hardly worth noting, and it didn’t appear as if there were any broken bones. Wordlessly, he took Ike’s sword, so he could straighten and stretch, and as they made their way into the camp proper, he felt his stomach flood with relief.

Healers were already swarming, staves and fresh bandages in tow, but Ike did not approach them. He watched for a moment, the bustling chaos, the barked commands, before giving a satisfied nod. “Everything seems to be in order.” 

Soren gave no reply; it didn’t seem as if he was expected to. He watched, quietly, and for a long moment, there was silence between them.

“Think you can handle that while I go get myself cleaned up?” Ike gestured at his sword, and finally, Soren nodded. They parted ways then, Ike to the commander’s tent, and he to his own.

It was a small abode, lined along the edges with satchels filled with maps and spare parchment, and it seemed smaller still in the dim light of the candle he lit. In the corner sat a small makeshift desk, piled with notes and diagrams; Soren sorted through them until he found the old rag and bottle of oil. They were exactly where he’d left them.

With a sigh he sat and began to wipe the blood off the blade, it shimmered in the flickering light, beautiful like the fading sunset. As he worked he tried again to imagine the battle, the din, the chaos; he tried to imagine Shinon’s arrow, the screaming wyvern, the falling rider. He could picture it, dim and distant like a dream; Ike had seen the man coming, he’d tried to dodge, but the brush hindered his mobility. The very aspect of the strategy aimed to mitigate damage had done the opposite. 

Soren reached for the oil, dumping perhaps more than he needed to onto the cloth. When he slammed it back down on the table, a pile of parchment went flying; he watched it flutter to the ground. Twenty pages he’d have to re-order and organize. He set to work once more on the blade. What was the point in taking notes, in jotting down ideas, if his work was riddled with mistakes regardless? His fingers danced along the edge, willing heat into the metal, so that it would absorb the oil better. Was this what his skill in the arcane arts amounted to? When had he let himself become such a burden?

Soren recalled the time when he’d fallen out of formation in battle, when his magic had failed, when Ike had ordered him to retreat despite his protests. He had limped for months due to his own poor judgment, and on longer days of march, Ike had carried him. He still felt twangs of pain on rainy days. He felt it then, glaring down at his reflection on the sword.

Still he was left behind, to wait, to _worry_ , despite having long been cleared for battle. Soren put aside the rag and corked the oil. When he rose to make his way for the door, he held the blade close to his chest; it felt like it belonged there.

“Good timing!” Ike was there when he pulled back the flap, and Soren staggered back, averting his gaze.

“It looks like they’ve started a late dinner over in the mess hall,” he jabbed a finger over his shoulder, “if you’re done with the sword, we can leave it here for now. We might actually get some meat if we get there before the laguz do.”

“...I’m not hungry.” Soren tilted his head back towards the dim light of the room, “I was actually just heading over to your tent to return your sword. I need to reorganize some things that fell over, and… alter some notes. ” 

Ike’s brows furrowed. “Is everything okay? You need to eat.”

“It’s just papers,” Soren laid the sword against one of the satchels and turned away, I can handle it.”

He could feel eyes borrowing into the back of his head, a moment that felt like eternity. “Well… alright...” Ike’s words were slow, “I’ll… bring you something back-”

“-I said I can _handle it._ ”

Soren knelt down, but his hands hesitated in picking up the papers. Ike remained in the door, framed by the moonlight, jaw set tight, eyes calculating, frozen, and for a moment, the world was still.

“… If something’s wrong, then-”

“-I’m simply asserting I can take care of myself, Ike-”

“- _Soren,_ ” he marched into the tent with movements as tight as his voice, “what’s gotten into you? You’re irreplaceable, you know that, you do things for this army that no one else can-”

“-yes of _course_ ,” Soren scoffed, finally moving to pick up the scattered parchment,“cleaning and polishing blades is a skill _entirely_ unique to me, I could have _sworn_ I’ve seen half the camp doing it when they’ve returned from battle, but perhaps I’m prone to phantasms.” 

“It is a skill unique to you-- you use _magic_!” Ike protested, “and besides, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with my-”

“-Do _not_ mock me, Ike.”

“I’m not!” He knelt down, so their eyes met, soft blue clashing against hard red. “I’m not. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but,” he shook his head, “you gotta _talk_ to me, Soren. I don’t know what’s going on.” 

Tension weighed them both, forcing their tongues still and rendering them statuesque. Soren’s knuckles were white against the crinkled parchment. He could see the concern in Ike’s eyes, wavering in the moonlight that danced between them, and his stomach twisted with guilt. He bit is lip and looked away.

“… You’re the one who needs to talk,” his voice was low, “I’ve been cleared for battle for awhile now, and yet you continue to leave me behind every time...” He trailed off then, but Ike remained silent, still. Soren was acutely aware of his steady gaze.

“Initially I thought you wanted to start me off slow, wait for a battle that would optimize my skills, so I could be eased back into the front-line, but today’s fight was ideal for mages, and _still_ I was told to stay. Still I had to see you off in the morning, and spend the day hoping you’d come back _alive_ \-- come back at all.” He took a shaky breath.

“You returned, but you did so battered, bruised, and covered in _blood_. It wasn’t yours, but for a moment it _was_ , for a moment, I thought...” He shook his head. “ _That_ is the price of my oversight. I should have put deeper consideration into the difficulties the forested terrain would have given to units specializing in close combat, but I presumed individual skill would make up for the hindered mobility. I presumed wrong, and you got hurt for it, just like I got hurt back then, on the day you had to order me to retreat...”

It was far too dim to make out the writing on the pages, but still he held them, because to look at words he could not see was easier than to look at eyes that said too much. His hands shook. Ike’s gaze was steady, gentle, everything that he was not. Somehow, it made something in Soren’s chest hurt. 

“Why won’t you… get mad at me?” The papers crackled under his tightening grip.“Is this… some sort of punishment, for my failures? Leaving me behind to imagine you getting hurt? Using my magic to polish weapons instead of watching your back in battle? You’ve always been too pitying, too _nice_ for your own good, Ike,” Soren’s voice cracked. He felt his eyes starting to burn. “If I’m such a burden... Then why not just _ask me to leave?_ ” Finally, he lifted his gaze, “Am I truly so pathetic that you’d rather mislead me, _lie_ to me of my usefulness?” 

Quiescence drifted between them once more, thick and heavy. Ike stared, lips parted and eyes wide, and Soren felt his shock as if it was his own; it stung like thunder magic.

“Soren I,” he faltered, “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too.” He rose to bring the papers to the table in the corner, there he paused, staring at the canvas wall. “...I can feel your fear you know, your worry. I always could...” His head tilted. “Is it because of what I am? I suppose that would make sense. You’ve accepted me, you’re too pitying, but the army wouldn’t share your sentiment. Keeping my influence to a minimum is a wise-”

“- _Stop._ ” The sound of movement was followed by a sudden hand on his shoulder forcing him to turn, forcing their eyes to meet. They stayed like that, for a short moment that felt longer. When Ike spoke his words were soft as his eyes were gentle.

“I _am_ scared,” he murmured. “I’m scared of leading, I’m scared of failing, but most of all I’m scared of losing the people I care about.” 

He averted his gaze, but when he spoke, his voice shook. “I always knew my father could die, but it seemed so surreal when he did. I hardly believed it. Sometimes I still don’t believe it. One moment he was there, and the next, he was gone, his safety was gone, everything he did for the company was gone. I sat there, and I watched it happen. I was helpless, a child, but suddenly everything he was responsible for fell to me. The mercenaries, my sister… There was no room in leadership for fears, or for grief. People were looking to me for strength, for direction, and so I’ve done my best to learn, to be what everyone _needs_ me to be. 

“Now I’m the commander of this army, I’m flung into this war I barely understand, and the duties aren’t really any different, but it’s the biggest mission the Greil Mercenaries have ever faced. I still have to talk, do paperwork, give orders, but on a grander scale, with higher stakes. Father would have known what to do, but me?” Ike averted his gaze. “It’s all I can do not to buckle under the pressure.”

The hand on Soren’s shoulder dropped, and it fell to his side, listless, lost. He looked smaller somehow, than what his large form would let him be. When he spoke again, his words were soft, fragile, as if they’d break and disappear at the slightest interruption. It was a vulnerability that looked strange on him, but somehow more genuine than his smile before. Soren wondered if it was always there, and he’d simply been too blind to see it.

“When you were wounded,” Ike continued, “when you fell… I thought I was going to lose someone else I cared about. I ordered you to retreat, and in the time after I watched you barely able to walk, hiding grimaces and whimpers of pain, I watched your exhaustion, and how much you had to suffer through every march, and I _knew_ , I knew that was the price of my folly. When my leadership fails, when I stumble or make a mistake because of my own inexperience, people get hurt, people _die_ ,” he sucked in a breath.

“I do my best to learn to do the things I’m still new at, but still people have to cover for me. Titania somewhat, but mostly _you_ , Soren. You’re better at numbers and papers and talking to people who use too many words than I’ll ever be. You handle the funds, you’re always correcting my tactics, making them better.” he ran a hand through his hair. His eyes seemed brighter. “You practically run this army, and I’m just. Trying. _Pretending,_ ” the last word was spat.

“And I _know_ I caused you pain, leaving you behind, but I just,” Ike let out a choked chuckle, “it’s not just your skills. I can be _normal_ around you. I can be myself. Sometimes I forget what that’s like, but you know more about me than anyone else and… Call me selfish, but I wouldn’t be able to handle losing you. I’d probably lose myself too.” 

The dim light of the candle danced on Ike’s face, carving into it shapes and shadows Soren was certain no one else had ever seen. He stared, mesmerized by the darkness, his stomach twisting between flickers, guilt and shock tangling in equal measure. His mouth opened, then closed, tongue too heavy to find words.

“-You too,” the words were blurted before he faltered, fidgeting with the sleeve of his robe. “I-I mean,” he paused.

“You’re irreplaceable too, Ike. You bring people together, people who would never _dream_ of working together, fighting _alongside_ one another. You make them want to follow you, and that is a skill precious few people have in this world, a skill _I_ could never dream of having.” Soren smiled wanly, “and perhaps you’re not the most eloquent speaker, but your sincerity is endearing. There may be much you don’t know, about tactics, about paperwork, about organization and leadership, but you _are_ learning.”

He began to pace, listing things on his fingers. “You’re learning to delegate funds between resources, and make hard decisions when necessary. You’re learning to write papers, file them-- you’re making your _own_ plans and strategies before you even go over them with me. Not only are you improving, but,” his hands fell, and his gaze followed them towards the floor, “you’re doing so at a rapid pace, so rapid in fact that I… I felt obsolete.

“I see now that was foolish of me,” Soren turned towards Ike once more, eyes threatening to well over. “I twisted words and meanings, I jumped to conclusions based on my own insecurities, and I… I should have talked to you. I should have considered your viewpoint more thoroughly. I’m sorry, Ike.”

Ike shook his head, as if to say something, but Soren did not give him the time. His hands twitched, a moment of hesitation, before he crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around, burying his face into his shoulder. His heart thrummed in his chest. His hands shook. It felt foreign and vulnerable and like everything he had no right to give, but Ike’s pain was his own, and it was all he could do to hold himself together.

“I won’t die,” his words were muffled but steady, even as his eyes burned. “I _promise_ I won’t die, but I want to be with you, I want to help you, so please, Ike... When you leave, take me with you, don’t leave me behind, _please._ ”

Ike’s breath hitched audibly. Slowly, he returned the embrace, pulling Soren closer and burying his nose in his hair. “Okay.” He sniffed, and his chest shook under the weight of the ones that followed. His voice was small, trembling, like a child seeking comfort in the night. “I need you, Soren.”

“I know,” and it was true. “I’ll be here, always. We’ll be _okay_ , Ike.”

Ike let out a sob, and his grip tightened, as if he was afraid of losing the warmth that existed between them. “I know.”


End file.
